Berries for Blair
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Summer vacation. Camping. Huckleberry season. Jim and Blair. Trouble. Need I say more?


**Special Notes** : A nod of thanks to Robert McCloskey's children's book _Blueberries For Sal_ , the title of which provided an irresistible adaptation when I chose a title for this fanfiction story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

 **Berries For Blair**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Jim Ellison cocked his head and listened, smiling a little, and his hands stilled momentarily in their task of slicing tomatoes and green peppers for tonight's dinner. Through the balcony door, open to the warm summer day, he had noted the distinctive sound of his roommate's car approaching a few moments before, and now could hear Blair's footsteps on the flights of steps leading to their third-floor apartment. He also caught the grad student's soft-voiced monologue as Blair apparently conversed with himself while climbing the stairs.

" _Done...I'm done...a whole five_ _weeks_ _before I have to go back to Rainier! Thank you, God, for the end of summer school and August and September and vacations...Yesssss!"_ There came the distinct sound of something – probably a foot – striking a wall. _"Take THAT, Dean Mayhew, so there; no more Blair Sandburg to kick around any more...oh cripes, I'm quoting Richard Nixon?! Naomi would faint!"_ A rich laugh punctuated the rambling sentences, slightly breathless now, as Blair reached the last flight.

Jim grinned at that, and laid down his paring knife. He went to the front door and pulled it open just as his partner emerged from the stairwell, arms full of books and notebooks and loose papers, his face flushed with exertion and his long, wavy hair flying in several different directions.

"Hey, Chief." Jim swung the door wider to admit the younger man.

"Thanks, Jim!" Blair edged through the doorway, scraping his sizeable backpack against the jamb as he clutched his armload closer to his chest, trying to minimize its size. "I dunno why that bothers Simon so much when you do it; I think having a Sentinel hear me coming and opening the door for me is cool...Whew, am I glad to set this stuff down!" With Jim's eagle eye on him, he didn't dare to simply drop the items on the floor, as he might have done if he'd been alone. He trudged over to the coffee table in the living room, and deposited the books and papers with a flourish, then shrugged out of his backpack. Since it contained his laptop computer, he set it carefully on the floor, then heaved another relieved sigh. "Man, some days those stairs are a lot harder than others!"

Smiling and shaking his head, Jim shut the door and moved to join his roommate. "It's 85 degrees outside, Chief, and the stairwell's hotter than that. You had a lot of stuff to lug – why didn't you take the elevator?"

"I dunno..." Blair plopped onto the couch and dropped his head back, suddenly looking very weary. "Didn't think of it, I guess." His eyes drooped shut.

Ellison's smile faded, to be replaced with some concern. "You look beat, kid. Tough last day?"

"Nah, no worse than usual...but I'm glad summer school's over."

"You got everything done?" Jim teased; it seemed there was always something still waiting to be completed: one additional assignment to do, one more batch of tests to be graded, one last research project to be worked on, one more class's grades to be posted... "Nothing left to do at all?"

"Nothing, man, I swear." Blair lifted his right hand languidly and half-opened his eyes. "I am at your disposal for five weeks...if you give me a couple days to catch up on my sleep, first." The eyelids slammed down again.

Jim surveyed his roommate with a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows. The grad student's obvious exhaustion was the main reason for a plan Ellison had been formulating for several weeks now: actually getting them both away from Cascade for a well-deserved camping trip – one which would extend past a mere weekend!

There had been no way Blair could leave town while summer school was in session – especially after one of his fellow instructors had accidentally come in contact with poison oak, and a second had been called away for a family emergency on the East coast, necessitating the need for someone to cover their classes.

Although Blair had purposely left his summer schedule light, so that he could spend more time working with Jim, the head of the Anthropology department had decreed that Blair Sandburg would pick up the slack in the teacher-less classes. With much reluctance, Blair had complied.

Jim had been grateful for a relatively crime-free summer, as his partner/observer's daytime visits to the police station had been few and far between – but Blair had valiantly insisted on accompanying him on many all-night stakeouts or late-night crime-scene visitations...and while _Jim_ could catch up on sleep the next day, Blair had to be at Rainier to teach. It hadn't been fair, in Ellison's opinion, and he'd calculated a method to repay his Guide for his unflagging devotion.

"Why are you staring at me?" Blair spoke without opening his eyes.

Caught outright, Jim decided the best defense was a good offense. "Who says I'm staring at you? And how would you know anyway; you've got your eyes shut."

"Man, I can feel it. So why are you?"

"You can feel it? Heightened senses catching?"

"Jiiiiiiimmmmm..."

Warned by Sandburg's aggrieved tone not to tease further, the detective relented – slightly. "I was just thinking about something – just an idea. How about I tell you after dinner?"

Now Blair did open his eyes. "An idea? What sort of idea? Why can't you just tell me now?" He sat up, curiosity alight in his gaze.

"Don't pester, Sandburg. Go take a shower, put on something cooler, relax for a little while, have dinner. Then – and only then – will I tell you"

Blair sighed theatrically and considered further badgering, but couldn't deny that Jim's suggestions sounded appealing. "I'll clean up this stuff..." he began, gesturing at the chaos on the coffee table and the bulging backpack.

"Later." Jim extended a hand to haul him to his feet, then gave him a little push in the direction of the bathroom.

I'd love to go camping for a few days," Blair sighed a couple of hours later, when Jim finally gave in to his continued questions and outlined the proposed camping trip. "It sounds wonderful. But are you sure you can get away from work?"

"I'm sure. I've been working on clearing up everything I could, and requested some vacation time. It's a done deal – if you're feeling up to it." The last words came out with some hesitancy, for to sentinel vision, Blair looked too tired and strung-out to navigate the way to his bedroom, let alone hike a mountain path with a load of camping supplies.

"I'm fine. I want to go. I'm up to it."

Jim studied him closely for a few moments, but finally nodded, marginally satisfied. "Then let's figure on leaving Saturday morning." He smiled a little. "You can sleep round the clock until then, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan I can live with." Blair sighed deeply, and looked at the coffee table with revulsion. "I've got to sort through all that stuff."

"I'll give you a hand, if you want." The offer was casually made, but revealed to Blair just how worried Jim actually was. His usual rejoinder would have been 'Get it all done before you go to bed, Sandburg.'

"Jim, you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. I just figure it'll be done faster that way."

"This," Blair said, with deep satisfaction, "has been the BEST camping trip we've had in—forever, man!" He lay flat on his back on a blanket near the tidy little campfire, gazing up...up...up, into the depthless dark blue of the night sky. Sparks from the fire floated upwards, their tiny lights mingling with the larger, steadier stars.

"Mmm-hmmm." Jim, also stretched on a blanket but propped half-sitting against a convenient log, agreed wholeheartedly. "S'nice. Real nice."

They'd been here for four idyllic days. Not as far from civilization as sometimes – they'd parked the truck in a remote graveled lot maintained by the Forest Service, and hiked only a mile or so into the forest. But the spot they'd found was surprisingly isolated and serene, and they'd been undisturbed by other campers during their stay. They were near a small creek, they had a reasonably flat spot to pitch their tent – and the weather had been clear and warm during the day, clear and cool at night.

Being relatively close to transportation turned out to be a bonus; when Jim's fishing rod had unaccountably splintered into pieces on the second day, they'd merely hiked out to the truck, driven to the first town down the mountain, and purchased a new one...and a couple of steaks for dinner, since they figured they wouldn't have much chance to catch fish that day. _And_ a package of ice cream bars, which they'd devoured on the way back to the campsite, secure in the knowledge that if they didn't eat them right away, the bars would melt and be wasted.

And best of all, there were still two more days to go before they needed to return to Cascade.

Jim covertly appraised his partner, darkness and flickering flames no hindrance to Sentinel sight. Blair was scarcely recognizable as the same individual who had dragged himself into the pickup Saturday morning. Despite the extended sleep sessions, he had still looked drawn and haggard then. Now, however, his whole demeanor was relaxed, there was color in his face, and even lying down he exuded vitality. Ellison smiled with satisfaction; it was nice when a plan worked so well, and this one definitely had. He himself felt 100% better just seeing how improved his partner was.

"Ya know what I'd like to do tomorrow?" Blair was still staring up at the stars and the rising fire-sparks.

"What?" Jim kept his voice casual, but inside he was jubilant. Sandburg had been disturbingly lethargic since they'd arrived, going docilely along with whatever Jim suggested, but not initiating anything on his own. Ordinarily he would have been bouncing from one idea and plan to another, proposing outrageous activities, and the detective had been anxiously waiting for the return of his energetic Guide. "As long as it doesn't involve bloodshed or pyrotechnics, I'll consider it."

Blair chuckled, smiling up at the treetops. "Huckleberries are in season..." he murmured dreamily. "Don't you think it would be nice to get some to take home with us?"

Jim's eyebrows shot up in consternation. Standing in a hot field picking berries – especially tiny little huckleberries – was not something he'd envisioned when he thought about this camping trip! Although Sandburg was right, the berries _were_ in season, and they knew where a lot of bushes grew... "Maybe," he said cautiously. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Sandburg rolled up to an elbow, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Huckleberry muffins," he said enticingly. "Huckleberry pancakes. Huckleberry waffles. If we get enough, even huckleberry pie!"

"Hold it there, Emeril. Are YOU offering to make pie?"

"Well...no," Blair admitted. "I think my skills stop at cobbler. But I'll bet Joel's wife would make us one, if we brought her some too."

Jim stared at him, then let his head drop back against the log and emitted a muted groan. How had they gone from a few cups of berries for muffins or pancakes to getting enough to make muffins and pancakes and...two pies? Or more? Would Blair decide to provision the whole of Major Crimes with berries, given half a chance? And he didn't want to pick berries in the first place! "We're not anywhere near where huckleberries grow," he protested weakly. "And I thought we were going to fish...and hike...and...rest – anyway. Not pick berries!"

"Jim, Jim, it works, it's not a problem – we don't have to get up and go first thing in the morning, or anything like that!" Blair was sitting up now, smiling that happy smile and gesturing with both hands. "We can fish in the morning. There's your fishing. We don't usually fish in the afternoon anyway, because they don't bite then. So we walk out to the truck – there's a nice little hike. We drive up close to the huckleberry fields, and then walk from the truck. There's another nice little hike. We pick the berries, we walk back to the truck, we drive back to the Forest Service lot, we walk back here. Fishing – hiking – and picking berries! See?"

"Breathe, Chief," Jim said automatically. He tried another tack. "We're not leaving until Friday evening. They'll spoil before we get them home."

"No, no they won't." Sandburg shook his head vigorously. "We've got plastic zippy bags and there are the Tupperware containers we brought the potato salad and fruit in. All we have to do is stick 'em in the creek – make sure they're waterproof, of course, and won't float away – and they'll stay nice and cold. Good as a refrigerator!"

Ellison groaned again, a little more loudly, but there was a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes. He'd known he was beaten from the moment Sandburg had suggested the plan, and despite all his objections, Blair had an answer for each one. "But I don't WANNA pick berries!" he said, doing his best imitation of a whiny child.

"Well for Pete's sake, then stay here and fish!" Sandburg snapped, suddenly tired of the argument. "I'll go by myself!" He flopped back onto his blanket with an exasperated sigh. "Nobody's going to drag you there against your will!"

 _Ooops! Too far, Ellison!_ Blair was evidently still edgier than normal. Jim hastened to backtrack. "Chief...hey. I was just jerking your chain. It's okay; I don't mind going – really. And I don't want you going off alone – you could fall and sprain an ankle...there are bears and wildcats and probably cougars—"

"Oh, puh-lease! You make it sound like I can't walk a forest path without incurring mortal injury! And don't you think I've got enough sense to stay away from wild animals? Give me a little credit, can't you?" Sandburg was apparently in no mood for reconciliation.

"But do they have sense enough to stay away from you? Come on, Chief, I was kidding. We'll both go; it's not a problem," Jim tried again to appease his annoyed partner. "Okay?"

Blair rolled his head to one side, fixing Jim with fire-lit blue eyes. For just a moment he looked angry and fierce...and then the gaze softened, and he smiled forgivingly. "Okay. Fishing first, then hiking, then berries, then more hiking, then we get back here for evening fishing. That suit you?"

"Works for me, Chief."

Although Jim would have only admitted it under prodding, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The day was warm and sunny without being overly hot, even in this alpine meadow. Their walks to and from the pickup had been pleasant and shady for the most part; the paths well-worn and not terribly steep or bramble-ridden. Blair had been bouncy and energetic – almost his old self. And damn if those berries weren't thick as...thick as – well, they were damned thick! At this rate they really _would_ have enough to make several batches of muffins and pancakes, and even those pies.

Upon arrival at their destination, they had prudently looked around for signs of large wild animals, for both men knew perfectly well that bears were as fond of berries as humans. They'd found some droppings, but weren't totally certain of their origin, or how long they'd been there. Jim's time in Peru hadn't trained him for the mountainous wilds of the Pacific Northwest, an Army Ranger didn't get a great deal of experience with forest animals –and a city police detective, even a Sentinel, couldn't analyze something when he didn't possess the specialized knowledge to do so! Likewise, Sandburg's numerous anthropological expeditions hadn't granted him much exposure to native animal life in this area; he wasn't any better off than Jim was.

Blair, humming with contentment, settled down to pick. They'd carried along several containers with snap-on lids, as well as the small collapsible buckets they used to carry water from the creek, and he seemed bent on filling each and every one. Jim, with frequent appreciative glances at the sky, the evergreen trees that surrounded the open clearing, and the bright late-summer flowers, did likewise. He had to grin a time or two as he surveyed his partner; Blair was attired in threadbare blue jeans which had one knee completely ripped out, a Rainier University t-shirt, sneakers and his disreputable fishing hat. He looked about 12 years old...and supremely happy.

"Chief?"

"Hmmm?"

"There's another of these clumps of huckleberry bushes a ways further up the mountain, isn't there? Didn't we find one a while back?"

They'd been picking berries industriously for over an hour, and Jim was starting to feel the urge to stretch his legs with some more walking. He decided that searching out another berry field would be a very good excuse.

"Yeah, it's a ways, though...maybe two or three miles?"

"Want to take a run up there and see what those are like?"

"We don't need to, Jim; there are plenty of berries here!" Blair gestured expansively at the surrounding bushes.

"I think I'd like to, though..." Ellison frowned a little. "Feel kinda restless."

"Go ahead, then!" Blair smiled encouragement. "I'll just stay here and pick, and you can go and check out the other patch. Just be sure to take along a container big enough!"

Jim's frown didn't disappear. "You don't think we ought to stay together...?" he ventured.

"Jim, I won't go anywhere! I'll just stay right here, I swear. Although," Blair added, now frowning too, "we probably ought to set a time limit...if you aren't back by such-and-such a time, I come looking for you."

Ellison growled a little, but admitted it was a sensible plan. "You figure two hours - two and a half, maybe, to be on the safe side? I'll run the trail – up, anyway; coming back might be carrying the berries..."

"Jim, be CAREFUL, darn it! If you twist an ankle up there, there's no way I can lug your carcass back to the truck."

"I will, Chief. Promise." Jim gathered up one of the little buckets and a large plastic container and stuck them into his daypack. "Happy picking, and I'll see you in a couple of hours." He trotted away through the undergrowth and into the trees, moving almost as fluidly as his panther spirit guide might.

Left alone, Blair picked happily on, humming softly to himself and resolutely dismissing all thoughts of anthropology classes from his mind. They had kept surfacing for the first couple of days, buzzing through his head like bees, but slowly he was beginning to banish them. Mindless activity like this – and fishing, and hiking, and toasting marshmallows over a campfire, and sleeping – were doing wonders for his overstressed body and overworked brain. He moved to another bush, stopping to empty his bucket into the plastic container and replace its lid.

He began to mentally catalog what supplies they had on hand for a fast dinner, as it was very likely that they'd be getting back to camp too late to prepare anything elaborate. _Broiled trout..._ They'd caught several that morning, and the fish had been placed in their 'refrigerator,' i.e., a container in a secure spot in the stream where they would be safe from marauding animals. _There's cornbread left...and potatoes that we can roast in the campfire. And still some tomatoes...And huckleberries for dessert – what was THAT?_

A crashing noise in the brush off to his right made Blair jerk to attention – and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

 _OhmyGod – a_ _bear_ _!_

Apparently as surprised as the anthropologist by the encounter, the black bear halted in its tracks, and huffed and snorted.

Blair froze, frantically trying to remember the things he'd learned about encounters with bears. _Say something...talk to it, in a calm voice. Avoid threatening movements or sounds. Hope it decides you're not a threat, and goes away..._ "H-hey there," he croaked out. To his own ears – and apparently to the bear as well – he didn't sound remotely calm or firm. "We-we're not going to have an...incident...are we?"

The bear huffed again, growled, and began to bounce and rock on its front legs.

 _Uh-oh..._ He remembered that particular movement meant that it was trying to scare him away, or was preparing to bluff charge. "Hey, you've already succeeded in s-scaring me, okay? No need to take it further!" As he spoke, Blair began to back up, easing through the masses of berry bushes. "You came for berries – right? Okay – I'm willing to admit that you probably have a prior claim..." He kept backing, one cautious step after another. "I'll just get out of your way – WHOA!"

His attempt to be soothing had been rudely interrupted by a sudden high-pitched squeal almost directly behind him, He jumped, startled – and when he looked hastily over his shoulder, a shocked and dismayed Blair saw a half-grown cub emerge from the line of trees which encircled the alpine meadow! It squealed again, evidently frightened by the fact that it had nearly run smack into the human.

"Oh God!" The worst thing in the world to happen – inadvertently coming between an already-upset mother bear and her cub! "Ohdamnohshitshitshit..."

Mama Bear growled again, this time sounding much more menacing, and lowered her head as she continued to bounce and rock. She pawed at the ground once or twice, then started moving forward at a deceptively-slow-seeming shuffling trot – and Blair knew he was in extremely deep trouble.

He backed away at an angle, trying to avoid both mother bear and cub, still attempting to get to the trees behind him – and finally admitting his total terror, turned and desperately sprinted towards them. He could hear the mother bear crashing through the huckleberry bushes as she pursued him, and her threatening woofs and growls. There was little but evergreens at this altitude – and any maples or aspens which had managed to survive up here were impossible to climb, with no low branches, or too small to bother with. Evergreens wouldn't have been his choice – but he _had_ no choice!

The clearing was full of brambles and thistles and vines and low-growing plants, as well as huckleberry bushes, and Sandburg felt thorns and stickers grab at him, tearing his jeans and ripping at his unprotected skin. Long trailing vines caught at his ankles, impeding his movements. A six-foot manzanita bush tore his hat off as he passed, and it felt like a few strands of hair went with it.

 _Just a little further..._ Frantically, he searched for the largest tree in the vicinity, and decided that a big Douglas fir was his best bet. He ducked down, scrambled beneath the spindly lowermost branches and began to climb.

As Blair had feared, the slender limbs drooped beneath his weight, dropping him nearly back to the ground as fast as he went up, and he could hear the brittle wood cracking and snapping. Panicking now, he clutched them as close to the trunk as possible, hanging on for dear life and shoving his body through the close-growing boughs – up, up, _up_! He disregarded the rough bark that was scraping the skin from his hands and knees, and barely felt it when he banged into limbs as he climbed. His whole focus was on ascending that tree until he was sure he was out of reach of the bear, and had found a branch sturdy enough to support him for an extended time.

The mother bear chased Sandburg to the edge of the meadow, but stopped, baffled, when he began to scramble up the big fir. She could climb after him, of course...but she wasn't stupid. She was fully aware that the little branches would break beneath her. Growling, she stood on her hind legs and reached after the terrified grad student – fortunately, Blair had managed to get high enough that she couldn't manage it. She grabbed at the trunk and shook it a few times, as if to shake him down, but Blair squeezed his eyes closed, clutched the tree with all his strength, and refused to be dislodged.

Huffing with displeasure, the bear dropped back to all fours and returned to her cub, who had found Blair's hat and was alternately ripping at it and chewing on it. She growled impatiently at her child, and nudged him toward the berry bushes, evidently saying 'it's time to _eat_ , not play with your toys!' Obediently the smaller animal followed her and they both settled down to consume huckleberries by the pawfuls.

Left in comparative peace, Blair slowly allowed his muscles to relax a little, and unclenched his teeth. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and blinked. _Need to get my bearings –_ _Oh, that was a funny thought, Sandburg, get your_ _bearings_ _?_ A tiny, hysterical giggle escaped him. Peering down through the fir boughs, he caught a glimpse of the two bears placidly gobbling berries. _I remember...I read about it somewhere...where? Some website. Starting along in August, bears become virtual eating machines, stuffing themselves to prepare for hibernation. It makes sense, Nature-wise...the berries are ripe, the bears are hungry...oh God, why did I decide I wanted huckleberries, anyway? Sandburg, you are such a damn fool!_ He let his forehead rest against the rough bark of the tree trunk, and silently cursed himself for his stupidity.

After a few minutes of self-recrimination, he began to realize just how terribly uncomfortable his situation was. He'd managed to find a sturdy enough limb that he wasn't in immediate danger of it breaking and plunging him to the ground – but now, although relatively safe, he was starting to feel all the aches and pains his headlong flight and climb had engendered. He had no room to move, even had he dared to shift from his precarious perch, and knew that he'd soon start to get stiff.

First off, his hands and arms had been scraped raw by the rough, scaly bark as he scrambled up the tree, and to add to the discomfort, were now coated with pitch, which mixed with the blood oozing from the abrasions, and stung and burned. His jeans now had _two_ ripped-out knees instead of one, and the skin beneath was scored and lacerated worse than his hands. He could feel damp warmth soaking the legs of his jeans, and knew he was bleeding there, as well as his hands and arms.

 _Are bears like sharks? Does the scent of fresh blood attract them?_ He shivered, and prayed that his unwelcome companions would be simply too full of their huckleberry appetizer to want to bother with _Sandburg tartare_ as an entrée.

From the throbbing ache of his head, he surmised that somewhere in his escape attempt he'd managed to bang it on something or other – a tree branch being the likeliest suspect. When he dared to loosen his grip on the tree for a few seconds and gingerly touched the back of one hand to the sorest spot, he felt a rising lump – but at least there didn't seem to be any blood _there_! And he was terribly thirsty...but his water bottle was down there on the ground. He hoped the bears wouldn't find it and ruin it. They'd probably maul his berry bucket, though...and eat up the berries in the plastic container, once they found it.

 _I'm safe as long as I stay here,_ he told himself encouragingly. _And after awhile she and the cub will get full, and go on their merry way...and then I can climb down and – oh shit! JIM!_

The Sentinel would be returning eventually, and more than likely would walk right into the feasting ursine intruders without realizing what was going on. And that could turn ugly – real ugly. Real quick.

 _Is Jim carrying his gun?_ Probably – the man had prudently brought it along on this camping trip, and rarely went around without it. Blair hadn't actually seen the weapon today, but more than likely Jim had it in his pocket. But that didn't really help a lot...a handgun against a full-grown black bear wasn't good odds, not at all. _Okay, I have to warn him. What time is it...?_ Cautiously, Sandburg once again released his tight hold and eased his left arm back until he could see his wristwatch. Nearly two hours had passed since Jim left – that meant he was very likely on his way back already! Surely...surely the Sentinel would be tuning in on his Guide, 'listening ahead' as he returned – wouldn't he? He always kept tabs on Blair – and this time wouldn't be different. It _couldn't_ be different. _Oh God, Jim, please be listening...please!_

Blair cleared his throat, realizing anew how dry his mouth was. "Jim..." he said, striving for a normal tone, "I hope you have your ears on, buddy, because I'm in a sort of situation here—" He broke off with a gasp, for at the first sound of his voice, the mother bear had jerked her head up, stared towards his tree, and emitted an ominous growl, rumbling it deep in her chest. She didn't move toward him – yet – but there was a definite warning in her reaction. She hadn't forgotten him...and she _didn't_ want him sitting up in that tree making unnecessary noise! "Oh man, this is so not good," he whispered, and let his head droop forward to rest against the tree trunk once more.

 _Think, Sandburg!_ Okay, so he couldn't talk out loud to get Jim's attention...well, he'd just have to whisper as loudly as possible...maybe a soft murmur might be all right. He tried again, speaking in a sibilant whisper and doing his best to project while still attempting to merely sound like the breeze blowing through the treetops so as not to alert Mama Bear.

"Jim? This is a 'Mayday' call, okay? There's been a little...problem. Namely, a bear – two bears. A big one and a little one, and they're really hungry for huckleberries. I'm okay – they've got me treed right now, but I'm safe, man, hear me? I'm all right. But I don't want you walking into this without a heads-up, so be warned. Come in making lots of noise, and maybe you can scare them away. I repeat, I'm OKAY, so don't worry about that..."

Over and over he repeated the warning in various phrases, whispering it as loudly as he dared, and always reiterating the salient points that {1} he was all right; {2} there were two bears feasting on berries just a few dozen feet from him, {3} Jim was to approach with extreme caution; and {4} he _really_ _was_ all right, and basically unharmed, so Jim wasn't to worry.

He grew hoarse, and became more and more thirsty; his headache intensified and he began to feel slightly dizzy and lightheaded from the combination of dehydration, stress and minor injuries, but somehow, Blair kept pushing his warning out into the atmosphere, endeavoring to reach his Sentinel.

He'd lost track of time, somewhere along the way. Blair felt as if he'd been chanting his warning for half an eternity. He was worried beyond measure that Jim didn't have his hearing turned up, and that the detective would suddenly walk into the meadow and be attacked by the possessive and protective bear. Or worse, she might hear or scent Jim _before_ he got there, and go after him before Blair could shout a warning!

Sandburg swallowed, trying to generate a little saliva to dampen his throat. He'd never realized before how a lot of tiny little hurts could distract and irritate almost to where they were worse than the pain from a more serious injury. He knew he wasn't badly damaged anywhere, but the combination of all the minor things was taking its toll. He sighed wearily and started his litany once again.

"Jim, hear me, buddy, please...there's trouble here; there are two bears, you've got to be care—"

An abrupt growl made Blair break off mid-word and crane his neck, trying to peer through the branches to see what was going on down below. His heart began to pound in his chest – what could be disturbing the bears, other than the return of his partner? The mother bear had stopped shoving berries in her mouth, and had raised her snout, sniffing the light wind and rumbling softly in her chest, the sound nearly inaudible to Blair. He listened hard, holding his breath and straining to hear what had alerted the animal, but his ordinary human hearing couldn't compete with hers.

The rumbling growl intensified, and now the mother bear rose to her hind legs, still sniffing the air, obviously disturbed. The cub had gone on alert now as well, and stood up in imitation of his mother. Both of them looked nervous.

Blair squeezed his eyes tightly shut and concentrated...and just at the edges of his hearing, he caught it: sharp smacking sounds, as of something being struck – and a voice, a human voice, rhythmically shouting. _Yes! It's gotta be Jim! It has to be!_ Closer and closer it came, and now Blair could make out the words. Relief poured through him in an almost overwhelming wave. His Sentinel was coming to the rescue, bellowing marching cadences at the top of his lungs!

" _I used to have the high school queen,_ _Now I've got my M-16,_

 _I used to drive a Chevrolet,_ _Now I'm running every day ..."_

"Oh Jim...oh man...Oh, thank God..."

The rhythm changed, as did the words:

" _They say that in the Army the coffee's mighty fine  
It looks like muddy water and tastes like turpentine..."_

The mother bear shook her head irritably and emitted an annoyed 'Whuff!' Again the rhythm and words altered:

" _We are the sons of Custer,_

 _Raiders in the night._

 _Dirty little devils,_

 _Who love to cuss and fight._

 _We'll grab the farmer's daughter,_

 _And toss her off the pier._

 _We'll swim right up against her,_

 _And nibble on her ear."_

Blair clung to his tree and listened, fascinated. To his almost certain knowledge, Jim Ellison had never been a drill sergeant or cadence caller, but what Blair heard now told him that even if Jim hadn't been a DI in the army, he remembered the lingo! He didn't seem to be finishing any one cadence or repeating them; he was switching seamlessly from one to another, almost without a break between them, and from the _whack! whack!_ noises punctuating the lines, he was beating sticks together as well.

 _"C-130 running down the strip_

 _Airborne ranger on a one way trip_

 _Mission Top secret destination unknown_

 _Don't even know if I'm going home..._

 _Stand up trooper, it's time to go.  
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door,  
Jump right out and count to four._ _"_

Ellison was coming steadily closer, and Mama Bear abruptly made up her mind to figuratively abandon ship. Dropping to all fours, she woofed at her cub, swatted his fuzzy little rear end, and headed for the trees directly opposite the uproar, nudging him in front of her. This action brought her uncomfortably close to Blair's tree – but she paid no attention to him; her sole objective seemed to be to get herself and her baby away from the approaching noisy _new_ threat.

Another rhythm change, and now Blair heard:

" _Special Forces  
Green Berets  
Pick up your weapons and follow me,_

 _I am the Infantry!_

 _Chairborne Rangers  
Sittin' at a desk  
Pick up your pens and write with me  
I'm __not_ _the Infantry!"_

Jim Ellison strode into the meadow as if he'd been on parade drill, a hefty branch in each hand.

" _I'll tell you a story,_ _It's true I swear,_

 _About an Airborne Ranger_ _who wore ladies' underwear..."_

He broke off abruptly, and stood stock-still, his head cocked in the familiar 'listening' pose of a sentinel. Apparently satisfied, he relaxed, dropped the sticks to the ground, and looked towards the big fir tree where he knew with absolute certainty – given the evidence of the frantic heartbeat he could hear – his Guide waited. "Huh," he grated. "They left, huh? No taste at all...must've been Marines!"

A muffled, slightly hysterical giggle greeted his remark, and Ellison moved toward the tree. He stopped en route and picked up an object from the ground, wincing as he saw Blair's fishing hat, chewed and mauled by sharp claws and sharper teeth. Stepping beneath the tree, he peered upward through the branches.

"You okay, Sandburg?"

"Yeah." The word was husky and barely audible, and Jim frowned in concern on hearing it.

"You sure?" The detective's own voice was hoarse and raspy, evidence that he'd put a considerable strain on his vocal cords.

"Pretty sure, yeah." But Blair didn't move, and there was no certainty in his tone.

Ellison's frown deepened as he picked up the coppery tang of blood, faint but unmistakable. "You're bleeding," he said curtly.

"Just scrapes, that's all," came the answer, still sounding unusually faint and breathless. "Nothing serious..."

"You coming down?" Jim asked then. "The bears're gone, you know. They aren't coming back any time soon."

"I know...but...Well...you see...there's kind of a...a sort of...problem with that, ya know...?" Sandburg uttered a nervous little laugh.

"What kind of problem?" Ellison snapped, then gentled his tone. "What's wrong, Chief? Are you sure you're not hurt? Why can't you climb down?"

"It's my...I said I was scraped up. I'm not sure I c-can c-climb d-down, because I c-c-can't hold on v-very well," Blair confessed shakily.

"Want me to come up and give you a hand?" Jim reached for a branch, preparing to swing himself up.

"NO!" Sandburg's reaction was immediate – and terrified. "No, no, you can't! The branches aren't strong enough, Jim...they barely hold me. If you come up, you'll end up breaking your neck, man!"

"And yours?"

"Well..." Another tight little chuckle. "That too."

"Okay, okay, relax. I won't try it." But Jim continued to stare anxiously up at his friend, who was clinging like a limpet to the tree trunk. "Chief," he said gently, after a few moments, "you've got to come down, you know. You can't stay up there indefinitely."

"I know...but...A lot of the branches broke under me when I went up. Not...not much to step on."

Ellison thought about that a moment. "Move around the tree and come down the other side," he suggested.

"Oh...right. Good thought." Rustlings and swishing of fir boughs followed, as Blair shifted position and started inching his way down the tree. He was using his wrists and arms to balance with, as much as possible, rather than holding on with his abraded hands, but even so, Jim heard continual hisses and gasps of pain as his partner made his descent – interspersed with ominous creaks and cracks as the brittle, fragile branches snapped under the strain. Ellison watched where Blair was coming down, and moved around the tree to stay directly beneath.

"You've almost made it, Chief...just a little further. Don't worry, if you have to drop, I'll catch you."

" 'kay..."

The next moment Blair scrambled the last few feet and dropped to the needle-carpeted duff. Fortunately, Jim stretched out a hand to steady him, for when Sandburg's sneakers hit the forest floor, his knees buckled as if they could no longer support him, and he slumped down.

"Easy...easy." Ellison caught the younger man under the arms and went down with him, turning the collapse into a controlled drop so that Blair was seated on the ground. "It's okay, Chief – you're down now. Just take it easy." He heard a muffled 'sorry,' and then Blair sagged forward, wrapping his arms about his knees and burying his face in his tattered jeans – and shaking hard.

"Shhh, shhh, it's all right. It's all right." Jim, recognizing stress reaction when he saw it, enfolded his Guide in his arms and pulled him as close as he could, rocking a little, soothingly. "They're gone...I'm right here...you're okay. It's okay."

"I was scared for you." The words were hoarse and muffled, but Jim easily discerned every syllable. "I wasn't scared for me – well, okay, when she first chased me, I was, but after I was up the tree it was okay, but I was scared you'd come back and walk right into them – afraid they'd hear you or scent you and attack before you knew what was happening..." He broke off, coughing dryly. "Oh man, I'm so thirsty."

Jim looked around, searching for the bottles of water they'd brought along. "Stay put – don't move," he commanded with a little squeeze to emphasize the words, and rose to his feet. In a few seconds he returned, carrying Blair's water bottle. "Not even touched," he assured his partner, who gingerly accepted it, and drank greedily.

When at last Blair set the water down and tried to catch his breath, Jim wrapped him in his arms again and resumed the comforting rocking/patting/soothing activity. He knew that Blair would need his various injuries tended soon, but for the moment, his Guide's psyche needed more attention than his wounds. "You did everything just right, partner," he assured him. "Just right. The way you warned me – that was just great." He tightened his grasp, a tiny quiver running through him as he thought about some of the possible alternative outcomes. "I'm sorry I left you here alone," he murmured. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed."

Blair shook his head a couple of times, but flinched and ceased the motion abruptly. "Ow...No – it might have still happened," he countered, "We might have both ended up treed. Or if you left, you might have ended up being caught at the other patch. There's no telling."

"Maybe, yeah." Ellison wasn't going to pursue the argument right now; he had other things to attend to, and Blair's hiss of pain had reminded him of them. "C'mon, Chief, uncurl here; let's let me check you over, hmm?"

Reluctantly, Sandburg leaned back. "Okay."

"I'd better get my pack; I need the first aid kit. I left it up the trail a ways." Jim started to rise, only to stop abruptly, noting the hastily-halted gesture which Sandburg had made: an almost convulsive grab at the Sentinel's arm to keep him in place. "Easy now, I'm not leaving you alone; it's just a couple hundred yards. I'll be right back...okay? Okay, Chief?"

" 'kay." But Blair swallowed hard as Jim stood up and walked away.

Hurrying to get his daypack from where he'd dropped it, the Sentinel kept a monitoring ear on his partner the whole time. Blair's heartbeat and breathing spiked sharply as Ellison disappeared into the trees, then evened out again when he reappeared with the pack. The detective strode across the little meadow and dropped to his knees again, pulling out the little first aid kit he insisted on always carrying on their expeditions.

"Just relax, Chief, okay? And tell me if you hurt anywhere else. I can see your knees are dinged up, and your hands and arms, but..."

Blair took a deep breath, trying to accede to Jim's request to relax. "Headache," he whispered huskily. "Just bumped it, though. It's okay—"

"Why don't we let me be the judge of that?" Ellison murmured, and Blair felt the Sentinel's fingers slide through his tangled hair, probing gently. They stopped upon reaching the tender lump, the touch so light that Blair barely winced. "Yeah, you whacked yourself pretty good, didn't you? Too bad we don't have any ice handy – but once we're back at camp, a cold-water compress will help some." He held up his hand, forefinger extended. "Track for me...follow my finger with your eyes, don't move your head."

Blair obeyed meekly. To his embarrassment, he found he was shivering again.

Jim finished his brief assessment, keeping a reassuring arm about his partner the whole time, then gently tilted him back towards the ground, softly carpeted with years of fallen fir needles. "Everything looks good... Just stretch out and try to relax while I clean up those scrapes." He studied Blair's legs a moment, then asked, "Do you have your knife with you?"

"Yeah." Blair started to reach into his front pocket, then desisted with a wince, as the motion hurt his hand. "It's in that pocket...but—" Suddenly he tensed. "What are you going to cut?"

Ellison chuckled. "Take it easy, Chief. Just your jeans; they've outlived their usefulness as they are, and they're going to become cutoffs. They'd rub your knees even rawer if you try to walk in 'em this way; besides, I can use the cloth." As he spoke, he extricated Blair's Swiss Army knife from his pocket and set about slicing through the worn, blood-soaked denim.

Using the water in his bottle sparingly, Jim sponged the worst of the blood from Blair's knees, shaking his head sympathetically as he viewed the abrasions. He carefully removed some bark slivers, glad that Blair's multi-use knife included a tiny tweezers, and then applied ointment from the first aid kit, cut strips from his own t-shirt to wrap over the scrapes, and followed that by tying a layer of denim over the top.

During the procedure, Sandburg lay unmoving, barely breathing and eyes tightly closed. He knew that Jim was being as gentle as he possibly could be – and Sentinel sensitivity went a long way towards taking 'gentle' to new heights – but still, it did hurt; Jim couldn't keep it totally painless.

"You're doing great, Chief." Ellison sat back on his heels after finishing the second knee, and surveyed his partner. "How's that feel?"

"A lot better." Blair opened his eyes and managed a brief smile.

"Walking's not going to be fun and games," Jim acknowledged, "but I think you'll be okay to get back to the truck – and then to camp. I saved the gauze bandages for your hands," he added, reaching into the first aid supplies again, "and there are more in the truck anyway."

"Did you find any berries at the other meadow?" Blair's chatter was an evident strategy to distract himself from what Jim was doing to his palms.

"Mmm-hmmm. That whole dish is full – I set it down when I dropped my pack; I'll pick it up after a bit."

"Did...I wonder if the bears ate the ones we'd picked already?" Blair craned his neck, looking for the berry containers.

"Hold still."

"I just wanted to see..."

The detective sighed, rolled up onto his feet, and went to look, leaving Blair to gaze ruefully at his half-bandaged left hand, and the still-to-be-tended right one.

Jim returned, settled back down beside him, and reached for the gauze again. "It's surprising, but they're untouched. Stupid bears." He grinned as Blair laughed. "They did ruin your hat, though, Chief. I don't think it can be salvaged."

"Oh yeah...I saw the little one chewing on it," Sandburg sighed, then flinched. "OUCH!"

"Sorry...it's the pitch. Can't get it all off right now. Almost done." Ellison carefully wrapped gauze, and tied it off. "There."

Blair cautiously moved his fingers, testing his mobility. "I'm not going to be much good for anything, am I?" he said sadly. "I can't hold a fishing rod, or do any of the cooking, or—"

"Those'll heal fast, Chief; you'll probably be able to take them off tomorrow. The bandages are mostly to keep the dirt out and make you more comfortable, that's all." Jim busied himself repacking the first aid kit while avoiding looking at his Guide's woebegone face. "You stay put, and I'll gather up our stuff."

Sandburg sighed. "'kay."

 _Damn!_ Jim gritted his teeth. Blair sounded tired and depressed again. Not that Jim really blamed him, but Blair usually bounced back faster than this.

Mouth set in a tight line, Jim hurried back up the trail to retrieve the berries he'd left there, then returned and began to load their daypacks. Blair sat quietly, despondently regarding his bandaged hands – and the tattered remains of his hat. After a few moments he sighed again, bent forward and rested his head against his upraised knees, eyes closed.

"You ready to head out?" Jim squatted down beside his partner and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Sure." Blair raised his head. To Ellison's surprise and relief, he was actually smiling a little, and appeared to have worked through –and hopefully dismissed – his unhappy mood.

"Oh – one more thing." Jim pulled a little packet of Tylenol out of a pocket, opened it, and held the contents out on his palm. "Take these before we start."

Sandburg opened his mouth as if to protest, then appeared to reconsider. He nodded thanks, fumbled the tablets off Jim's palm and popped them into his mouth, washing them down with a gulp of water.

"Atta boy. Now let's get you up and get started back." Jim braced a foot against Blair's, gripped his Guide's biceps, and pulled him to his feet, steadying him briefly. "How's that feel? Your knees okay?"

"Jim, man, I'm scraped, not fractured. I'll be fine." Blair held his arms out. "If you could just slide my pack on...?"

The overprotective streak in Jim wanted to refuse, and demand to carry both packs himself, but he knew Blair would throw a hissy fit – and rightfully so. The anthropologist wouldn't want to be babied unless it was necessary, and this time it really wasn't. The packs weren't all that heavy, and although Blair had been scared and banged up, he wasn't badly hurt. Reluctantly, Jim helped Sandburg into his backpack, and donned his own. They both looked around, checking for anything they might have accidentally left behind.

Blair cleared his throat, and gave a sudden shout. "Hey, bears! You can come back now! It's allllllllll yours!"

Jim burst into startled laughter. "Jesus, Sandburg, you're crazy, you know that?"

"Just part of my charm, Jim."

"Worth it, don't you think?" A comfortably-full Blair Sandburg reclined on a blanket beside the campfire, looking very much as he had 24 hours earlier. There were a few differences: his hands, carefully pillowed on folded towels at his sides; his legs, equally cushioned on a rolled-up blanket, and the presence of a cold, wet compress on his head. The anxious Sentinel had prevailed over Blair's halfhearted protests when it came to coddling his injured Guide. "The berries, I mean."

"They'd better be." Jim's growl didn't sound very threatening; he was too content, and equally comfortably full. "They were enough trouble!"

Blair smirked. "Just think of the stories we can tell about how we got them. Anyone getting huckleberries from us will have to sit through a description of how we fought off wild animals to acquire them and dragged ourselves back through the forest, wounded and bleeding—"

"Fighting off more wild animals to protect our loot," Jim added dryly.

"Hey, those chipmunks were stalking me, man!" Blair sar up and grinned impishly at his partner.

"Knew a nut when they saw one," Ellison mumbled. "Lie down," he added, as Sandburg stuck out his tongue at the 'nut' comment. "you're supposed to be resting, remember?"

"I'm resting, I'm resting!" Blair settled back with a sigh. "You fuss too much, Ellison."

Jim didn't merit that remark with any consideration at all. "Still think this was such a great vacation?" he inquired, dreading the reply but determined to ask.

Blair started to sit up to answer, but subsided when he caught Jim's eye. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "It's been super. Even today. Really!" he insisted, as Jim made a scoffing noise. "Okay, sure, I was scared outta my mind when that bear was chasing me, and I was really worried about you, after. And this—" he gestured at his bandages, "wasn't so much fun, but other than that...hey, it was a real adventure, man! And it all turned out okay, so...all's well that ends well, right? Didn't you have a good day – for the most part?"

Ellison thought about it, staring into the flickering fire. If he was honest...okay, he'd had an enjoyable morning fishing, and the walks had been good. Even picking the berries had been pleasant – right up until he'd caught those faint, desperate whispers from his alarmed Guide. But even that situation had had some good points: he'd instinctively relished the dog-trot through the woods, and barking out those lines of military doggerel had been satisfying in a reliving-past-times sort of way. He hadn't really wanted a showdown with the bears, so the fact that they'd vacated the premises was all to the good...and since Blair was basically unhurt, _that_ was okay too.

He raised his eyes to meet Blair's, and smiled. "Yeah – I guess it was a pretty good day after all."

"One we'll look back on and talk about – and brag about – and won't forget soon," Sandburg prodded, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Life's never dull for us, is it?"

"Damned right we won't forget it soon! And I could use a little more dullness sometimes, Chief." But Jim was still smiling. "You going to keep that beat-up hat as a souvenir?"

For a moment, Blair looked thoughtful, then shook his head decisively. He picked up the hat from where it lay on the ground nearby, and tossed it into the campfire. "Nope! That's one memory I'm not going to have any trouble recalling!"

"And we don't have to do this hunting-gathering thing again, right? Foraging in the woods for foodstuffs is over and done with?"

Pure deviltry glinted in Sandburg's fire-lit blue eyes. "Weeeeelllll, I don't know about that, Jim. I know some great places where we can find mushrooms, come October..."

The End


End file.
